Kestrel (Hart Briothers #3) by A. M. Hargrove Page A

and be a partner in this practice here. But you’re way smarter than
he ever was. This stuff, well honey, it’s way over my
head. How in the world do you do it?”
    I
laugh. “Uncle Foster, it’s nothing. To me, legalese is the difficult one. My
mission is to find a cure for cancer. And I believe this is one way to target
it.”
    “Honey,
can you give me a rudimentary explanation of how this stuff works?”
    “Oh,
sure. What I’m doing is modulating the gene sequence of cancer cells. You see,
all cancer cells have the ability to lock on to the immune system’s own defense mechanisms and disable them so they can’t kill the cancer cell.
What I’m doing, or attempting to, is creating a genetic mutation that disrupts
the ability for the cell to do that. So instead of treating the cancer with
chemotherapy, and making the patient sick, the future therapy will be to give
the patient a drug that will instruct the cancer cells DNA to replicate in a
way that won’t allow it to disable the human immune system. Does that make
sense?”
    “How
the hell did you figure all that out?”
    I
laugh at him. “By fiddling around in the lab. Tweaking this and that under a
microscope. It’s fun!”
    “Jesus,
Carter. Your brain … well, it’s a hell of an amazing gift you’ve got there.”
    “Thanks,
Uncle Foster. But I still have a ways to go. I’ve got some of it figured out.
But I want to get it all worked out. I want to cure all pediatric cancers.”
    “I’m
worried about you, honey.”
    “Me?
Why?”
    “Oh,
baby, you know why.”
    I
always hate these conversations. Foster and my dad were best friends. He misses
my dad probably as much as I do. They were work partners, fishing buddies,
sailing buddies, you name it. They grew up together and were joined at the hip
since pre-school days.
    “Yeah,
I suppose so.”
    “Are
you getting out? Doing things? You can’t work all the time.”
    “I
know. I get out with my friends some.”
    Skepticism
clouds his expression. He’s too sharp for me to pass anything by him. “Carter,
I know what yesterday was. I mourn, too.”
    “Yeah.
I know you do. It’s getting easier though.”
    He
purses his lips. “Is it?”
    I
look at him sharply. “What is it?”
    “Megan
is getting married. She just got engaged last weekend.”
    “Oh,
that’s fantastic! Congratulations!”
    “The
thing is, Carter, I don’t feel excited about it. Daniel and I always talked
about what we’d do and how we’d celebrate when our daughters got married. How we’d
feel when we walked them down the aisle. We made a pact, you know? He probably
never told you. But we did. We promised to be there for each other, with shots
of Jameson on hand, before we made the walk. And now, I feel like a lost soul.
I also feel like a shit for crying on your shoulder, but you would understand
this more than anyone. I can’t tell Megan. And Janet doesn’t understand.”
    “Shit.”
I get up and move behind his desk to wrap my arms around him. We hug each other
and cry. It’s odd because I never think of anyone else on the anniversary. I
feel I’m the only one that still suffers. He’s just proven how wrong I am.
    “Tell
you what, Uncle Foster. On Megan’s wedding day, I’ll be there in Daddy’s place
and you and I will do that shot together.”
    We
look at each other, eyes watery with tears and smile.
    “Sounds
like a deal to me.”
    We
sit quietly for a few moments.
    “Carter,
how did the showing go?”
    His
question makes me cringe. This is not something I want to discuss with him.
    “Fine.”
    “Do
you think they’re interested?”
    “Maybe.
The man said he’d call me.”
    Uncle
Foster’s brows inch up. “Why the hell would he call you?”
    “Anne
couldn’t be there yesterday. An emergency came up.”
    “Still,
that’s odd.”
    I
shrug. It takes every ounce of strength I have to stay in his office. I want to
run outside and tear my hair out. I want to scream my lungs out. But I do
neither. My teeth